Lost at Sea
by sea-so-couture
Summary: I'm "Stingray" Rayette, a thirteen year old from District Four. I've been training for my entire life to be a ruthless, aggressive killer. I am to bring honor to my district by winning the Hunger Games. But I don't think I can do that. I'm just a lost girl pretending to be a soldier. Rated T, just in case.
1. Sneak Peek

Sneak Peek  
I woke up to loud screaming. The air was thick with mist, as usual. But this mist didn't come from our normal waves, the ones that keep boats floating gently on the water. And it definitely wasn't a wave we could surf. It was a horrid sea storm, and I was in the midst of it.  
I pushed myself up off of the sand, quickly checking for injuries that could've occurred during my slumber. I found a scrape on my leg. It was probably just my inability to stay still during sleep.  
I did a quick sweep of the area. The fishermen who had already begun their morning shift had already fled to their families. Some stayed behind and helped other families escape. Fathers carried children to safety away from the sea and mothers calmed newborns.  
And then I saw it. A newborn baby with her leg stuck under some debris. It looked like no one saw her. I was probably her only hope of survival, seeing as the small debris was too heavy for her to escape from. I only have about forty seconds before the wave crashes in. I have less time than that before her young heart gives up. Challenge accepted, wave.  
I bolt to the newborn just as another wave approaches. I didn't see this wave, so it must've just began to form, like, five seconds ago. Oh, well. I can still save the baby.  
Until I realize that this wave is much closer than the last.  
And bigger.  
And faster.  
**Ooh, a cliffhanger! Next chapter (ch. 1) after 3 reviews! Hint: her name is exactly what's giving her trouble. What should I name the story? Best title gets a virtual, invisible cookie+a mention in chapter two! See ya! ~sea-so-couture**


	2. Chapter 1

**Okay, I know my quota was 3 reviews, but I had to post this. The title will be Lost at Sea, from .7 (I really like that title). The next chapter will have a flashback of the baby situation from earlier. Enjoy!**

Almost without a thought, I rise from my bed. I silently search for my worn leather boots. They make running really very easy, so they're naturally my go-to shoes. I slip them on, careful not to make unnecessary noise. I rummage around for my faux fur jacket. Finding it under my bed, I grab it and put it on. I don't need to put on anything else, seeing that I fell asleep in the clothes I was wearing earlier today.

I get my bow, quiver, and favorite assortment of knives. I pack everything in my backpack, along with some bread that was in my room, just in case. District Four's fish-shaped loaf wasn't exactly my favorite, but it was food, and I just love food. I leave my house through a big window in my bedroom. Locking it behind me, I make my way to Gatem Seye's house. Gatem has my same facial structure, but my skin is darker than his. Plus, his eyes are a deep navy, while my eyes are an extremely pale blue. People usually think I'm blind, but my eyesight is only moderately impaired. Anyway, Gatem is my best guy friend. If he died, I would never leave my room. And then, after a few weeks, I would hang myself. He said he would stab himself if I died. So, for each other's sake, we promised not to die.

Once I arrive at his house, I can see he's expecting me. I scale the side of his house as quickly as I can. I reach his window, and he helps me in. He locks the window and closes the curtains as soon as I'm in, in case a Peacekeeper sees the open window and suspects anything.

"Thought you'd get here earlier, Stingray," he says, sitting on his bed.

"I just woke up, y'know. Cut me some slack," I replied, taking a seat next to him.

"Whatever, Sea," he pauses to chuckle, "We need to talk."

"About tomorrow?" I ask.

"Precisely," Gatem answers.

"Well, if someone younger than me gets reaped, I'll volunteer." I tell him. He needs to know that before anything.

"Same, Stingray. This might be our last night together."

"Yeah, I know," I say, trying to hold back tears. It's not that easy to let your best friend of eleven years go.

"Don't cry, Sea," he attempts to comfort me, noticing my eyes watering.

"It's not that easy to let you go, G," I tell him.

"I know the feeling, Stingray. I promise you, if I leave District Four on that train tomorrow, I will take the training seriously. For you. I want to come back and see your face."

"I'll definitely do the same for you, G."

A smile curls on his face. "Pinky promise?" Gatem asks, channeling his inner kid.

"No," I say, "double thumb promise. It's virtually indestructible. No one can break it."

He holds out both thumbs. Rather than bending my thumb like a normal person, I use my hitchhiker's thumb to my advantage. That upgrades our double-promise into an infinity promise, in my opinion. He seems to think so, too. I pull him into a tight hug. We stay like that for a long time.

"Okay, Sea," he whispers softly in my ear, "Let's go train."

**The person mentioned above is " .7". It keeps cutting out most of her name. Sorry!**

**Okay, really? It's "rosieDOThorganDOT7". DOT=.**


	3. Chapter 2

**Okay, everyone. I promise this chapter will be longer. We'll start with a flashback, and go from there.**

*FLASHBACK*

I got to the baby in the nick of time. Upon closer inspection, I find it's a baby boy. He has deep brown hair and sea green eyes that you could get lost in. I take my focus from his eyes back to the task at hand. I remove the debris from off of his leg and wipe off a bit of blood. The rubble was pretty sharp; even I got a few cuts trying to remove it. I cradle the baby in my arms and force my legs to carry the baby and me away from the wave at top speed.

Right then, Gatem shows up. As if that weren't enough, he picks me up quickly and, using some of my momentum, speeds the the baby and me from the oncoming wave.

Gatem, being so in sync with me, gets to high ground. He sets me down and takes the baby from me. He knows pretty much everyone, so finding the baby's family should be a breeze.

He gets back with some bread and fish. This reminds me of when Jesus fed everyone with just a boy's small amount of fish and bread. It gives me hope-hope that everyone can escape this. Hope that District Four doesn't become the natural disaster version of District Thirteen.

We eat in silence as more waves crash against the shore. Soon, the waves are high enough that I can feel the spray whenever they hit. Gatem must feel it, too (a/n: lol, I didn't mean for it to come out that way), because he gets up exactly when I do. We take the bread with us abd search for higher ground. It turns out that we don't need to because the waves start to lower.

"Datsus O'Myla," Gatem whispers.

Like I said, we are way in sync.

(a/n: hmm...who is Datsus O'Myla? ;D)

*END OF FLASHBACK*

Gatem leads me to his basement. He doesn't need to; I know his house inside and out. But I let him guide me because I don't want to let go of his hand. I don't think he does, either. Want to let go, I mean.

Gatem's basement is my favorite part of his house. He has so many targets down there. We always train together. Give us any weapon and, I assure you, one of us can use it. Usual both of us can.

I grab Gatem's trident. Might as well try my hand at that. Gatem takes my bow. He's used one before, but, to put it nicely, he sucks. He uses a full-body archery target, and I use a plain circular target.

"Better not kill me with that, Stingray," Gatem jokes.

"Look who's talking," I remark, gesturing to the bow he held.

"I'll be able to work this in two hours, tops," he challenges.

"Give me the same amount of time for this," I say, raising my trident.

"You're on, Stingray."

"Okay," I agree, "on my count. One...two...three...be-"

"Begin!" Gatem yells. Thankfully this idiot isn't loud enough to wake anyone.

I take the trident, hold it like it's a regular spear, and launch it. This works well enough, but I keep falling short. I adjust the power behind the throw, and the trident hits much closer to where I aim. That won't do. I need to hit the bullseye, or else Gatem might win this little competition. I aim for the bullseye and tilt the trident up. My grandma always said to "aim higher in case you fall short". This takes some effort because the trident has a bit of weight to it. It's somehow different than a spear. With the trident at an angle, I throw with just the right amount of power. The trident hits the bullseye perfectly. The end isn't crooked, but totally straight coming off the target.

"Look at that, G," I taunt, doing my signature (and somewhat bird-like) bow.

Gatem looks stunned that I got his trident to work so well. He notices that I've noticed the look on his face, so he wipes it off.

"Thirty minutes," he claps three times, "a bullseye in thirty minutes. Technically thirty-two minutes, but still impressive. If we don't have to volunteer, I'll teach you a thing or two. You'll be more lethal than usual in no time." he adds, hitting a bullseye with the bow as he finishes speaking.

"That would be thirty-four minutes for me," he smirks.

"Wow," I say genuinely, "I have to say, I never thought you'd get the hang of this."

"Hey!"

"Do you want the truth or a lie?"

"A lie," Gatem answers.

"You suck. I knew you wouldn't be able to do it."

"Nevermind. I'm good with just the truth."

I put Gatem's trident away and he puts my bow and quiver in my pack. We start to head back to his room. He unexpectedly snatches me up and carries me bridal-style to his room. I resist the urge to laugh and ask him why he's carrying me.

He sets me down on his bed and sits next to me. I lie down on my vack, staring at the ceiling.

"We need talk," he says, "again."

"About?"

"Stingray, I think I like you."

"Of course you do, idiot. We're best friends," I say, but Gatem knows I'm trying to avoid this conversation.

"I'm serious, Sea," he says, starting to blush.

Pause. I need to say something. I've like liked him for years. I know, so stereotypical. But I'm good at hiding it. Obviously, I hid it from you...kind of. I guess this conversation was inevitable. Play.

"Since when, G?"

"Since we were ten."

(?)

"Okay," he says after a long pause, "I just ruined everything. You can leave if you want."

"Of all the things you've ever said," I sit up and grab his hand, "that was the dumbest. Why would I want to leave?"

"Why wouldn't you?" Gatem asks, emotionless.

"Because," I focus my vision on our intertwined hands, "I care about you." My eyes rise to interlock with his.

Suddenly, I can feel his lips on mine. He pulls away after a second or two, not embarrassed, but not wanting me to be angry. I pull him back towards me. He kisses me again, more forceful this time, but still slightly gentle.

Oh. My. Gosh.

I can't even.

(a/n: I wanted to end here, but...)

(a/n: y'know what? I will)

**R&R! I really want to continue this story, but if no one's reading... Bye!**


	4. Chapter 3

**So...let's climb up that cliff... Or should we go ahead and fall?**

I kiss him back. We kiss. It isn't long. It's not making out, either. But it's heartfelt.

"Stingray?" Gatem asks.

"Yeah?"

"What should our nickname be? Like...we could be 'Gatsea'."

"No," I say, "not that. How about...'Seyette'?"

"I like that," Gatem says.

I pull him into one last embrace and he hugs back.

"You've been gone almost an hour. You should get going," he tells me, breaking the hug.

"Okay," I say, "but I accidentally locked my window. I just remembered, sorry." You can lock my window from the inside and the outside, but you can only unlock it from the inside.

"Okay, Sea," Gatem huffs, "I'll come with you," the master lockpicker adds.

Gatem retrieves a box of miniature tools from underneath his bed. I move to the window, checking for Peacekeepers before unlocking the window. I slide the panel to the side and climb down. Gatem throws down his toolbox and I catch it. It's not a silent catch, so I freeze in place until I can be sure no one heard. Gatem climbs until he's a few feet above ground, then drops noiselessly from there.

"You only live once," Gatem says, dashing across his backyard to my house. He's clearly challenging me. I run towards my house, knowing I won't catch up with him holding this toolbox. It's not heavy, but I can't run too fast or I'll make a racket. Gatem knows this, of course. He's always challenging me, and half of the time he cheats his way to winning. Like now.

I arrive at my window, out of breath. By the time I'm there, my window is unlocked and open. Except Gatem didn't have his toolbox. That's a question for later, but the toolbox was probably just to slow me down. I climb inside and see Gatem standing next to my bed. I set the toolbox on my nightstand. I begin to take off my jacket and boots when Gatem speaks up.

"Umm...Stingray? Are you going to be changing in front of me? I mean, I can go," he says quietly.

"No. I already fell asleep in these clothes," I say, "I just needed to take off the jacket and boots. If I change completely, I'll arouse suspicion." I throw my jacket and boots underneath my bed before hopping in.

Gatem tucks me in and kisses me on the forehead.

"Good night," he whispers softly.

"Good night," I reply.

Gatem goes to the window and leaves, locking it behind him. I wish there was no such thing as the Hunger Games. If there wasn't, I could always be with Gatem. I need him.

And I'm pretty sure he needs his toolbox.

~Reaping Day~

I hop out of bed with anticipation. That is, until I realize it's Reaping Day. Nevermind that anticipation. I mean, I know we're Careers and all, but I just don't want to kill anyone. I'd have to get a low training score, hide, and set traps. No one outside of District Four would know my abilities, but I'd still survive. That's what I need to do-survive.

Wait, I'm getting way ahead of myself. I might not be in the Games. I never take out tesserae, and if a twelve-year-old was called, someone else might volunteer. But that'd be going back on my word-breaking part two of a single-pinky promise I made with Gatem when I was little. Single-pinky promises may be of least priority on the promise scale, but it was still a promise. So I couldn't break it.

*the promise*

"Stingray," Gatem says, "I think, now that we're pretty good with weapons, we should volunteer. Y'know, for the younger kids. When we're thirteen, of course. So there will be people who are younger than us."

"Yeah, we should. Not everyone wants to be in the Games."

"Pinky promise?"

"Wait. Let's make it a two-part promise. 1, we can only volunteer for someone younger than us. 2, if the younger tribute looks like they don't want to be in the Games, we wait until the last possible moment. If no one else volunteers, we do."

Gatem locks his pinky around mine.

*end*

Okay, so I think that I'll lose Gatem forever today. "Not a happy thought," I mutter to myself while slipping on some gold flats. I look through my closet for my favorite black dress. It's knee-length and somewhat flowy. It has an empire waist, too. Cost me a small fortune. What else would I save eight years-worth of birthday and Christmas money for?

I hate the idea of dressing up to die. It's like a funeral, but by then, you're already dead. I just need to make an impression on The Capitol. I mean, there's a possibility that I'll be in these Games. I should try and rack up sponsors, just in case.

I draw a heart on my right cheek with gold face paint and a precision paintbrush. There. Just the right amount of Capitol flair.

"Mom! I'm going to Magdalene's!" I yell, hurriedly preparing a cream cheese bagel.

"Okay," she calls, "just be careful of Peacekeepers! Come straight home!"

"I will," I promise as I quickly grab my bagel. I head for the door.

I bet you're wondering who Magdalene is. Well, she's a pretty, smart woman in her twenties. She never got reaped for the Games. Being from District Four, she is an expert at knot tying, which makes her a pretty sweet hair stylist. The Capitol would love her. She does my hair in an intricate braided updo. When she's done with that, she lightly mists my hair with gold dye. She takes a bit of charcoal and outlines my eyes. She finishes up and takes a moment to examine my face.

"Simply perfect, dear," she gloats, "I am amazing, aren't I?"

"Can I see it?" I ask.

"Oh, yes, of course!" She exclaims. Magdalene takes my hand and leads me to a full-body mirror.

"It's beautiful," I gasp in awe.

"You mean, 'I'm beautiful.' You're not an 'it'."

I'm not beautiful, but she made me look...aesthetically pleasing. That's about as close as I'll get to beautiful. I'll spare you an explanation of how ugly I am. Obviously, I look somewhat nice. I could use that to an advantage if I'm picked.

*fast forward*

After what seems like an eternity, I finally hear what may be the beginning of a life-changing game.

"Ladies and gentleman," a ridiculously dressed woman calls in a rich Capitol accent, "before we begin, we have a special video for you all."

A video clip, most likely some old propaganda, plays. It shows us the war between the districts and the country that "loved them, fed them". It shows us how Panem "rose from the ashes". It tells us that District Thirteen was obliterated.

"This is how we safeguard our future," the woman chants along the video.

It's time.

"I love that video, don't you? We'll begin the Reaping with the ladies. 'Ladies first', as I always say."

She reaches into the bowl. Her hand searches for a name. Finally, satisfied with the name between her gloved fingers, she begins to remove her hand from the bowl. Those red gloves linger in the bowl for approximately ten more seconds before she pulls the name.

"Emerald Hadeyn! What a beautiful name! Come on up, darling!"

A girl emerges from the twelve-year-old section. She is ushered to the stage by stoic Peacekeepers.

"Miss Hadeyn," the escort says as soon as the girl in on-stage, "how do you think you will fare in the Sixty-Eighth Annual Hunger Games?"

The girl doesn't say a word.

"Miss Hadeyn?"

No one moves.

"I VOLUNTEER!"

**the dress: fashion-style/fashion_news/net-a-porter-the-hunger-games-capitol-couture-collection-A12072 (2nd pic on page)**


	5. Notice

I will be posting weekly or semi-weekly.

Bi-weekly if you're lucky.

The chapters will be longer and dictated better.

Break has been off for a while now.

Plus, I have to study for the district Spelling Bee! If I win that, I'll let you know!

I will try to post on a regular basis.

I just wanted to let you all know that I'm not dead. Bye!


	6. Chapter 4

Gatem's P.O.V.

Sea's voice-the scream, the pained yet complacent tone-rings in my ears well after she's cried out the fateful words. I'm frozen by fear and hurt-Sea, my best friend for years, has sentenced herself to the tortuous Hunger Games. And its my fault-the stupid, incredibly thoughtless promise I made with her. I need Sea, and Sea's family needs her. I can't give up on Sea-not yet, not ever. I'm going to make another promise-one that could only hurt me.

Stingray is coming home. Alive.

Sea's P.O.V.

I want to scream and cry and kick the Peacekeepers that now escort me to the stage. But I can't do any of that. I've made myself a pawn for the Capitol and I cannot take back what I said, and a suicide before the Games is unthinkable. An outburst now would surely result in death, and if not death, then a lack of sponsors.

I am Sea Crystyn Rayette, and I am District Four's female volunteer.

"A volunteer, how delightful. Ja'dore the heart on your cheek," the voice of a Capitol citizen snaps me back to reality,"Now tell me..."

"Sea Rayette."

"Sea, are you a Career? You certainly don't..._look _like one."

"No," I manage to reply to the insult-doesn't the Capitol exalt good manners?-smoothly,"I am not a Career."

The whole district seems to gasp. A few utter very unkind, rude words. Being a volunteer from a Career district, I'm expected to be one of the bred-to-kill, desensitized, unlikeable students from the Academy. But really, I'm a little girl who wasn't accepted because her extremely kind-okay, not that kind-and merciful conscious prevented her humanity from being stripped away little by little. And this little girl would represent District Four, seeing as whoever the Academy had picked wasn't brave enough, and therefore not good enough. I knew enough about the Academy to know that the female they had chosen would not hear the end of it. And whatever punishment the Academy saw fit for her would be painful. District Four will be represented by a reject, and the Academy staff knew it. I should have waited-waited until after the overly cheerful escort stopped trying to communicate with Emerald, until the Academy's stellar female killer broke out of her cowardice. But I didn't, so now I'm knee-deep in this mess. This is not a mistake I can fix.

But even if I had waited, would the intended volunteer have overcome her supposed-supposed by me, at least-fear? I assume I am never to know. Maybe she would have-maybe she'll curse my name forever. But that isn't my problem-I have much worse to think about. I know I am powerless and of no assistance to her, and she will likely live. As selfish as that seems, you still have to consider that, if I would like to survive, I have to focus and take this seriously. I would have to fight. I would fight for Gatem, the darling boy I consider a brother. I would fight for my young, unknowing little sisters, Ashtyn and Aalistyn. I would fight for my father, Dacluss, because, while he was the one that believed that I should go to the Academy, he only wanted to protect me. Every day, he trained me, saying, "I never had anyone to train me-cademy or otherwise. I was terribly afraid when I was reaped, but as a victor, I learned some things. I know they will be of use to you." And lastly, I would fight for my mother, Talia. A strong woman was she-brave enough to defy the Capitol. Punished dearly for it-suffered torture after torture, until her heart finally gave up. I would honor her, and President Snow will remember the awfulness he sentenced my mother to. He must remember-remember my mother and the other executed ones, the Avoxes, the 23 mandatory deaths of children year after year. I do not intend to make him care. I intend to make him remember all he's done. I may not be nearly as beautiful as my mother was, but I do have her spark. And her spark is all I need.

"Very well, then," the unimpressed escort announces,"Allow me to draw the name of our male tribute..." She daintily plucks a name out of the bowl.

"Destluck O'Myla!" The escorts shouts happily.

_Just my luck_, I think as a tall, muscular, and tanned boy departs from the fifteen-year-old section. He has sea green eyes and sandy, curly hair that reaches his earlobes. A knowing, confident smirk is on his face. As his sea green eyes meet mine, I can tell right off that he isn't very fond of me. His unspoken threat haunts me.

Destluck's P.O.V.

My district partner isn't very good-looking. She won't be able to use a flirtatious angle, that's for sure. But with eyes like that, she could come off as very cunning. The heart on her cheek is a nice touch, too. When we meet eyes, I can tell she's a bit ruffled. But I see something else-a spark.

**Oohh...do we see some Sealuck happenin'? Hey, disregard the Seyette romance. They're just friends now! Okay, yes, Destluck said Sea was ugly, but just think of it as a Tris and Tobias-type relationship, okay?**


End file.
